It had been a month since everything changed.
Before the change, life in Marley was a predictable chaos. The streets were always alive—shouting vendors, sputtering generators, and children with dust-covered feet chasing deflated footballs. It was a typical ghetto, a place where luck was a luxury.
She had been lucky, in a way. When they first moved there, she didn't end up in the overcrowded public school down the road. Instead, her mother found a struggling private school nearby. It was far from perfect—few books, fewer teachers—but it was enough. She never complained. After secondary school, she would take her external exams, hopefully pass, and start the journey toward university. Just like Jenna.
Jenna—her older sister. Her north star. Her example of what was possible beyond Marley's dusty streets.
Jenna had always been ahead. She finished university early—barely twenty—and applied for a master's program abroad. France. In a few months, she was accepted. Bags were packed, documents stamped. She was leaving.
"I'll be fine," Jenna had told their mother, brushing off offers of financial help. "You have other kids to take care of, Mum. I've got this."
That was Jenna: fiercely independent, stubborn to a fault, and endlessly protective.
She left, and at first, everything was fine. Calls came in, then texts—WhatsApp was their cheapest lifeline. But soon, silence.
No calls. No texts. Nothing.
At first, their mother rationalized it. Maybe she was overwhelmed with school. Maybe her phone was stolen. Maybe she was just tired. But weeks turned into months.
Four months. Four months of silence, fear, and desperation.
Their mother, a widow with children still under her roof, began to panic. She called everyone she could think of, begged strangers who had relatives abroad. But no one had seen Jenna. No one knew anything.
Then, a full year passed.
The house had grown quiet with grief. Their mother lost weight—her appetite gone. But she stayed strong, for the other children. Because she had to.
Then one humid afternoon, a luxurious black car pulled up to the front of their rundown apartment building. A woman stepped out—tall, poised, unfamiliar yet... not.
Her skin was smooth, her low curls carefully styled. She looked up—her gaze fixing on the second-floor balcony where laundry swayed in the breeze.
And then, she locked eyes with the girl hanging the clothes.
There was a pause.
Then a whisper. "Jenna?"
The woman smiled softly. "Mom."
Their mother flew down the stairs like the years had never passed and clutched her daughter in her arms, sobbing. She held her so tightly, it was as if she feared Jenna might disappear again if she let go.
It had been a year, and Jenna didn't look like Jenna. But a mother always knows.
Inside, the little sisters hovered in awe and confusion.
"Why do your eyes look... brown?" Diane asked, tilting her head.
"They're contacts. Not the regular kind—I switch them out every month."
"Who owns the car?" another sister asked, peering through the window.
"I do. Bought it when I landed." Jenna glanced casually toward the vehicle. "Lance is in the car."
"Lance?" their mother echoed.
"My secretary."
"Secretary?" Diane blinked. "Wait, what happened to you, Jenna?"
Jenna sighed, her fingers brushing the curls from her face. "It's a long story."
And so she told it.
How she was kidnapped one evening after school—targeted by organ traffickers. They took her far from France, smuggled her to the Philippines to avoid detection. It was a nightmare. But by some twist of fate—or divine intervention—she escaped.
She found refuge in a caretaker's home. The man who ran it was kind. His in-law was moving to Manchester, and he took Jenna along like family. When he passed away a year later, he left her something in his will. Enough to change her life.
Her mother wept as she listened, the kind of cry that came from the soul—grief, guilt, gratitude all wrapped into one.
"You went through all that alone…" she whispered, voice cracking.
"I survived," Jenna said quietly. "And I came back."
"Are we… rich now?" Diane asked shyly.
Jenna smiled. "Yes. We are."
"Did you do surgery?" another asked.
"No."
"Then how did you get so… not-chubby?"
"Caretaker life is hard. And there was no good food like Mum's."
"Did you exercise?"
"A little." She laughed.
But Diane looked at her intensely. It was Jenna, and yet, somehow... it wasn't.
"Will you buy us a new house?" their mother asked carefully.
"Of course," Jenna said, her tone warm but firm.
"Something big?"
"Whatever you want."
"Can we go back to that old area near the church?" Diane chimed in.
"Why not somewhere better?" Jenna raised a brow.
"Like… where celebrities live?"
Jenna chuckled and pulled out her phone. "Trouvez-moi des maisons et des emplacements, disons sept chambres," she told someone on the other end.
Within a month, they left behind the cramped apartment and moved into a high-end neighborhood. Jenna made their mother choose the house. When asked about the price, she simply smiled and said, "Just pick what you love and leave the rest to Lance."
Lance—tall, bronze-skinned, short curls. The little girls whispered among themselves when they first met him. Handsome, they agreed.
Later, alone in the hallway, Lance leaned on the doorframe and spoke.
"I didn't take you for a family person."
"This is my family," Jenna replied. "The only one I've ever had."
"This house was short notice. I was literally stepping out of the shower when you called."
"I thought you'd stay in the car."
"I was cautious. The way your mother held you… I figured you weren't coming down."
"She's my mother. I can't imagine how awful she must have felt."
"Your story's wild. I half-expected you to throw in a plane crash—go full Tom Cruise."
Jenna gave a tight smile. "It's not a movie, Lance. If she talks to the wrong person, someone might investigate. There's enough heat as it is."
"You knew about this house?"
"Of course. It was meant to be Eduard's party house. His blood fest."
"He's still pissed."
"He can go fuck himself."
"True. He's been quiet since the Awakening."
"Has Margaret called?"
"Yeah. Eighteen hours ago."
"Tell Nelson I'll meet him at his estate."
"You're giving him the green light?"
Jenna smirked. "You think?"
This woman—this new Jenna—was something else. Charismatic. Sharp. Warm when she wanted to be, terrifying when she had to be. The family had her back, but they didn't have all of her. Maybe they never would.
Somewhere else, in a darker room, two men argued.
"You bastard, you let this happen!" one shouted.
"You left me no choice. She had your balls in her hand either way."
"She would've killed me!"
"She nearly did! What was I supposed to do?"
"You could've struck before she ascended!"
"You fool. You think it was that easy? No one saw it coming."
"So we just watch now?"
"No. The Council is bidding time. She's nesting."
"Nesting?"
"She's gone back to her real family. In Africa. And she's represented by Lance Evergreen."
At that, they froze. The Orphan. Not a nickname. A legend.
"Let's wait," the second man whispered. "The higher they climb… the harder they fall."